


What You Need

by mrs_pennylane



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU post season 5 and 6, Creepy Petyr Baelish, Dark Sansa, F/F, No Sansa won't be sold to the Boltons, Past Joffrey Baratheon/Sansa Stark, Reference to the books, Rewriting a lot of things from season 5 and 6, Sansa Stark POV, Sansa is darker and manipulative, She's not the girl the TV Show wrote anymore, Sleazy Petyr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-02-04 19:42:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12778116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_pennylane/pseuds/mrs_pennylane
Summary: Sansa knows what Lord Baelish wants and she will use that to get what she wants even if this means hurting the Lord Protector of The Vale in the process. Now that she is safe at the Eyrie, she has plenty of time to master her skills at playing the game of thrones.Seasons 5 and 6 rewriting.





	1. Dark Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how many chapters I will write. All the chapters will be written in Sansa's POV and we won't have any Petyr POV as I think this will make you wonder whether her actions are working or not.  
> One last thing... I don't have a BETA so any mistakes are entirely my fault. We revise but sometimes it's not enough.  
> Hope you guys enjoy it!

_“You think you know me?”_

_“I know what you want.”_

_“Do you?”_

Sansa had spent the rest of her day trying to sew a new dress, a habit she had maintained after leaving Winterfell. When she was being a hostage to the Lannisters in Kingslanding, it kept her calm and helped her get rid of suicidal thoughts when it all became too much, when she thought she couldn’t handle Joffrey’s abuses anymore. It kept her sane.

Today she was having a hard time concentrating, partially because she was still shocked to watch her aunt Lysa fall straight to a quick but effective death. If Sansa were to be honest, she wasn’t fond of the former lady but that didn’t mean she wanted her dead. She was, after all, her own blood. What was really bothering her was someone called Petyr Baelish, her uncle by marriage, her protector and also her aunt’s killer. Possibly Sansa’s downfall.

Her mind was trying to understand the enigma he was. He had saved her – more times than she could count – but she was starting to realize that he didn’t do it for her. She was just a piece in his game and he sure was benefiting from having her around safe and well. He knew where to move her, how to move and when. She was playing along, dumbly letting herself be manipulated. Not anymore.

Up to that point, Sansa didn’t know how to play the game of thrones. However, she was slowly learning that you only learn how to play when the circumstances demand you a decision. You have to shape it to your best interests. Before, she let people decide whatever was going to happen to her life – her marriage to Joffrey, to Tyrion, her rescue to the Eyrie –, until her life and someone else’s depended on her actions. She knew she had to do something so she lied to the Lords of The Vale, said her aunt had commited suicide and that Lord Baelish tried everything to persuade her not to jump through the moon door. She cried, grieved. All fake. What would have her family thought about her?

Sansa saved Lord Baelish from execution but most importantly, she saved herself. It was best to save a man she knew what he wanted – her, her affection and her power – than to trust a few lords she didn’t know. She couldn’t gamble with her life like that anymore. She had learned that lesson from the very Lord Baelish she had saved. His smirk had told her everything: she played the game of thrones. She had won that battle. Finally, she was ready to stop being a piece of the game to be one of the players, after all, hadn’t she used Lord Baelish to protect herself? Wasn’t she using him to get her home back?

The question was how far would his attraction to her go? He had kissed her in the snow before her aunt was killed and made quite clear that he saw her more than a protegee. How long would it take until he killed her, once he had achieved what he wanted? Sansa needed to be smarter and outplay him before it was too late.

Sansa didn’t know much about seduction but she could learn, just like she was learning to manipulate. She had learned to be a lady as well and for a time that kept her alive. It was time to change her ways, to fit into this world that was far more dangerous than she thought it was. If it meant her survival, she would seduce him, enchant him and she would stop only when she got what she wanted. Some fights you just can win by being ruthless and manipulative.

But there was something on the way… Would she be willing t give up her maidenhead for this? Now, that wasn’t something a decent lady should think and her septa would be disappointed to know about those thoughts. It didn’t matter, did it? She was dead. Everyone from her family who had taught her that acting ladylike was the most important thing of her life. Sansa was done with that a long time ago. She would do whatever it took to get her home back, to offer justice to her people, to ensure the continuity of House Stark, even if that meant selling her soul to the devil. Sansa had already visited the hell and the gods never cared to bring her back without leaving her broken. The gods would forgive her if this time she was going there willingly.


	2. Bastard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alayne could understand why the best weapon a woman could use was between her legs. Sansa was unsure of herself. Alayne knew her power.
> 
> Sansa couldn’t be nothing else other than a lady.

She slept as Sansa Stark and woke up as Alayne Stone, bastard daughter of Petyr Baelish. From that day on, she wouldn’t behave anymore as a high-born lady but as an outcast, someone not worthy of respect. Lord Baelish had told her that no one could know she was there at the Vale and that she needed to hide, to be someone else. She had agreed to his plan because she thought it was a good one.

Or that’s what she convinced herself.

Lord Baelish had sent a handmaid for her, who explained everything about being a bastard and how she was expected to be treated.

“It doesn’t matter that you’re so pretty like this or that your father is powerful, you’re always going to be treated as if you’ll never belong. You’re a bastard, don’t forget that and know where your place is. You were conceived outside of a marriage and without the gods blessings. You’ll never rise to be important or to be respected, so I would suggest you to get used to be ignored and denied a sit at a table. Don’t speak too much and don’t complain. If you keep that in mind, you’ll do well.”

Sansa – Alayne – couldn’t stop thinking about Jon and how he was treated at Winterfell. Sure, she supposed he had a good treatment and he was raised together with Rob and Theon, but her mother always made sure that he knew _his place_ , that he was never going to be a Stark, that the best thing that could happen to him was The Night’s Watch. She felt bad for all the times she was mean to him and wished that she was like Arya in those moments – more open heart, less concerned with being a _queen_.

Now she understood how _pathetic_ she was.

She dyed her hair on that day, leaving behind the auburn Tully hair to embrace the brown hair from Baelish. Looking at herself in the mirror, Sansa felt like a complete stranger to herself. Not only her mind had started to change but also her appearance.

When she thought about becoming Alayne, she felt a sudden straight that Sansa didn’t have. Maybe Sansa wasn’t strong enough to carry on with her plans to play the game of thrones. Alayne Stone, on the other hand, was strong, very strong. She was the perfect persona to play the game – dark, manipulative, fierce and could use all of her beauty on her favor. Alayne could understand why the best weapon a woman could use was between her legs. Sansa was unsure of herself. Alayne knew her power.

Sansa couldn’t be nothing else other than a _lady_.

 _Alayne_ chose a dark dress to match her new hair shade. Her skin was pale and the color of her hair made her even paler. Her eyes, blues as the ocean, were the only thing capable of adding some life to her face. She was now ready to step into the character.

 

When she climbed down the steps to meet Petyr – _her father_ – and Robin, she felt like Sansa was only a memory. As soon as she caught sight of them, she saw Lord Baelish’s eyes meet hers and for a second, it was like Sweetrobin wasn’t even in the room. He stared obsessively at her while she approached them. Alayne gave him a small smile, acknowledging her effect on him, and he smirked wickedly at her.

“Good morning, my daughter.” Petyr greeted and he made sure to emphasize the words _my daughter_.

“Good morning, father. Sweetrobin.” She smiled to both of them and Robin enthusiastically hugged her.

“Sansa!” He shouted and she raised her eyebrow to him, her look authoritarian, and Robin cleared his throat. “Alayne, sorry. Uncle Petyr told me that today starts my training with the sword! Are you going to watch me?” The boy was awfully attached to her and she felt a little guilt that his attachment was due to his mother’s death. _The one you helped pass on as a suicide, Sansa._

“Of course I will, Robin.” She answered, putting a fake warmth to her voice. “And I’m sure you’ll do it well.”

Alayne raised her head to look at Petyr and he had a smile on his lip, the one she noticed it never reached his eyes.

“Robin, can you go find Lord Royce for me? I need to speak to my lovely daughter before we depart to Gulltown.” Petyr said warmly, hugging the boy before he left. Littlefinger sure knew how to play the boy, making him believe that his “uncle Petyr” actually loved and cared for him. She was sorry for the kid, even if that surprised her.

“We know he’s going to be awful.” Alayne observed as soon as the young lord was out of their eyesight.

“He’s weak and it’s his mother’s fault.” Petyr answered, expressionless. “His health is… _delicate_. I don’t believe he’ll make a strong lord.”

“ _If_ he ever reaches the age to become a lord…” Alayne seized.

She wasn’t looking directly to Lord Baelish’s face but she could see from the corner of her eyes that he had narrowed his eyes and he seemed interested, almost amused. He was assessing her and she tried as hard as she could not to be an open book.

“Your hair looks good in this color, although I do prefer the reddish Tully.” His intense gaze had moved from her face to her locks, tracing down until he reached the level of her breasts. She couldn’t help but feel naked under his almost scrutinizing stare. One of his hands moved to touch her hair lightly, reaching for a strand before he let go a low sign.

“I’m happy to know this pleases you, father. I always aim to please.” Alayne answered, now moving to meet his eyes, her lips curled up in a small smile. Their eyes locked instantly.

“Careful now, my dear. Anyone eavesdropping our conversation would find unsettling and _wrong_ that you seem so… eager to please me.” He whispered. She noticed he was slipping into Littlefinger’s mask, leaving Petyr Baelish behind.

“But isn’t that what daughters are supposed to do for their fathers, even if they are _bastards_? _Please them?_ ” She reasoned, her mask as Alayne Stone slipping in as well.

For seconds, a silent game of manipulation was being played between them. Alayne was somehow amazed that they could communicate with each other without saying a word. Their eyes spoke for themselves.

Alayne was proud of herself when she noticed that Petyr had a hard time trying to fight his urge to stare at her during their trip to Gulltown. She didn’t know _yet_ what he was thinking but relished the idea that she could hold his attention despite the Littlefinger façade. When Alayne felt she had avoided him enough, she let her arm touch his slightly and gave him an innocent smile. She remained like that until they reached their destiny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who's reading my story! Thanks for the comments and for demanding for more!


	3. Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was rather exciting to see Petyr Baelish lose his composure, especially because she was the one causing it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. Holidays were quite busy!

_"I miss your auburn hair, it matches perfectly with your blue eyes."_

 

Alayne felt his hands gripping her neck, angling her enough so he could pull her into his body. As soon as she crashed into him, she felt soft lips reaching for hers and closed her eyes, diving into the feeling.

Sansa had only been kissed passionately by one man and that man was Lord Baelish. Under the falling snow, she could have believed that the moment was just like the ones from the songs she sang when she was younger. Except her whole family was dead and she was alone to reclaim her home.

Alayne shared that similarity with her since she was now being kissed by the same man and with the same intensity. But she was no one. A bastard. Yet, the man in front of her who was supposedly her father didn’t mind. He held her close, his tongue exploring her tongue while she tried to follow his pace. If she had only been kissed like that before her whole life fell apart, maybe she wouldn’t have become so bitter. She wanted to tell herself that this was Alayne’s feelings because bitterness didn’t fit Sansa Stark’s nature but she knew better. Alayne was just a lie she comfortably used to pretend that those weren’t her true feelings, that she wasn’t becoming dark. As long as she pretended this was all Alayne’s actions, she could tell herself she was innocent.

With a new wave of courage, Alayne started pushing him towards his desk, not minding that his papers were left there and they could crease them. Petyr let her guide him to the desk and she pressed her body against him, feeling his erection poke her belly. She almost groaned at the feeling. He, on the other hand, didn’t hold himself and moaned on her mouth.

It was rather exciting to see Petyr Baelish lose his composure, especially because she was the one causing it. Alayne couldn’t stop now and she reached to untie his breeches but Petyr stopped her hands. He brought them to his lips, his grey green eyes suddenly hard. Slowly he kissed the hand that tried to sneak into his breeches while still staring at her. This wasn’t Petyr – he was kissing her before. This was Littlefinger coming into scene.

“We can’t do this, sweetling.” He said, indicating to his bulge. “Not if we want to make it impossible for you to marry a good man.”

_Marriage?_

“I’m not interested in marriage.” Just the thought of it made her shiver. She didn’t want to be tied up to someone who possibly would become a monster later. Very much what would have happened with Joffrey if the gods had disgraced her with a marriage. “I just want to… relieve the pressure.”

He must have understood what she meant because his eyes started to go lower until they reached her womanhood. Petyr licked his lips.

“There’s a solution for that and it doesn’t involve fucking you.” Petyr answered, his classic smirk playing across his face. Alayne dropped her gaze to the floor in shame, her cheeks burning from his words.

She was ridiculously stupid, wasn’t she? How was she supposed to seduce him if she was ashamed of the word “fuck”? If she was going to blush near him, all of her plans would be wasted. Alayne breathed and held herself together this time, her expression trying to be impartial.

“What if I want to fuck?” She asked, daring. As soon as the word “fuck” came out of her mouth, she felt surprised that it came so naturally. Petyr didn’t react to her choice of words, he remained smirking.

“You will have to wait for your wedding night.” Petyr said simply, reaching to kiss her forehead. It was quite impressive how the man could swift from sexual caresses to fatherly kisses. Not that he was very fatherly to her, anyway.

“And who are you going to marry me with?” Her curiosity got the best of her. It shouldn’t have surprised her that he was planning to marry her. She was still young and a virgin, and since she was pretending to be Alayne, she was innocent from all the crimes she was charged with.

“Have you ever heard of Harrold Hardyng?” Petyr held her hands, the distance between them a safe one. Was he trying not to be so close to her? Was he affected by her?

“I’ve heard of him once or twice. Ward of Lady Waynwood?” Alayne answered.

“Exactly, sweetling.” He seemed delighted that she wasn’t completely clueless. “He’s also next in line as heir of The Vale, if Lord Robin doesn’t make it to adulthood. I heard he’s a handsome knight.”

Alayne observed him and concluded that there was more in this story than what Petyr was telling her, so she released her hands from his grasp and started walking around his office. “But?” She questioned, raising her eyebrows.

“He’s father of a bastard and there’s another one on the way.” Petyr said, his eyes accompanying her movements.

“That’s unacceptable.” She answered, turning to him.

“Now, now, _Alayne_. Don’t forget your status, you’re in no position for judgements.” Petyr reprimanded, his tone sharp. “He’s handsome, rightful heir as Lord of The Vale and Lady Waynwood seems eager to marry him to someone already so he can stop sneaking under women’s dresses.”

“And what makes you think I could make him stop doing that?”

Petyr approached her and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re the most beautiful woman in all the seven kingdoms. It won’t take too much of you to convince him you’re all the spice he needs in his miserable life.”

“What about Sweetrobin?” She complained.

“We both know he won’t last much long. Now you must go, my daughter.” He gave her another kiss on the forehead. “It’s quite late and tomorrow I need you fully rested to fulfill your duties as Lady Stone.”

That night, Alayne dreamed that Petyr hadn’t stopped her from reaching his manhood, he had actually encouraged her. He had kissed her in parts she didn’t know if were proper to be kissed and made her moan his name. She should be ashamed but instead, woke up to find her lady parts terribly wet with desire. She could live with lust. So, she rolled to her belly and sneaked her hand between her legs, sighing when she reached her most sensitive part.

 


	4. Of knights, ladies and bastards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry the Heir? More like Harry the Douchebag, Harry the Fucking Idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everybody who's reading and giving kudos. It means a lot!

The sun had barely started to rise when Alayne woke up, before her handmaid knocked the door announcing that the Lady Waynwood and Harry Hardyng were arriving at The Gates of The Moon. Earlier that week, she and the court had descended from The Eyrie to the castle to attend the tourney for the Brotherhood of Winged Knights. It was the first time since she arrived at The Vale that she was attending a feast and as much as she wanted to pretend she didn’t care, she was anxious about it.

The last couple of days were the happiest and after a rather uncomfortable first encounter, her relationship with Myranda Royce was improving. The young woman was lively and had a sharp tongue that Alayne appreciated – except when she was the subject. As much as the Sansa Stark inside of her would cringe with Myranda’s sincerity, Alayne observed it as something to learn, to absorb.

“Your father, when did he meet the late Lady Arryn?” Myranda had asked her not very much after they were introduced.

“I heard they were raised together.” Alayne answered.

“And you? When did you two meet?” Myranda raised her eyebrow, smiling at Alayne.

_Seven hells, one has to be really patient to handle her curiosity._

Alayne forced a smile, “My mother used to work in one of his brothels.”

“Used to?” Myranda tilted her head.

“Yes, she died. She would pretend I was somebody else’s bastard, raised me in a brothel around the other bastards and whores. Only when she was about to die, she told Lord Baelish he was my father. I thought he would kill me but… Well, I guess Lord Baelish was thrilled to be a father. He took care of me.” Alayne punctuated the end of the conversation with a small smile and a nod but Myranda was having none of it.

“That’s it? He believed in her?” She contested.

“I don’t see why he shouldn’t.”

“She was a whore; your father could be any other lord.”

“It could but that’s hardly the case. My father and I have a connection only we can understand.”

“Or maybe he fancies you.” Myranda smiled sarcastically.

“Lady Royce, if you excuse me,” Alayne said, sharpening her expression. “I have to help Gretchel prepare Lord Robin for our trip.” She nodded and left Myranda alone in the room, the young woman looking a bit lost from her blunt change of posture.

Now after days together organizing the feast, Myranda already knew that, with Alayne, some subjects were untouchable. They had an unspoken agreement to never really talk about themselves, only about the others. Alayne learned many gossips about the lords, about the lords’ sexual preferences and a little about The Vale’s story. To some, the gossips would be useless information but to Alayne, knowing more and more about The Vale would come handy. Plus, if you know people’s motives, you can anticipate their actions. She had learned that very well.

With the help of her handmaid, Alayne dressed in one of her dark dresses and fixed her hair in a simple braid. Her best dress was reserved for tonight, when the feast would take place. For now, she would dress simply as Lady Stone and that should be enough for Harry The Heir.

Alayne stood by the main hall of The Gates of The Moon and the first person she saw entering the castle was a tall young man with sandy hair and a charming smile. _That must be Harrold Hardyng_. In another time of her life, she would have fallen in love with him straight away but she knew better, knew he was quite fond of what women had between her legs. Who could guarantee he would never cheat on her? If her father, with all of his noble speeches, was capable of bringing a bastard home to be raised, why wouldn’t Harry the Heir do the same?

_Am I capable of even falling in love again in this lifetime?_

She shook off those thoughts from her head. _He’s just a means to an end, what he does with low-born ladies are not your concern._

“My lords, good morning.” Alayne bowed lightly her head to the entourage that accompanied Ser Harry, giving them a big smile.

“My lady.” Lady Waynwood greeted her before the other lords. “This is my ward, Harry Hardyng.” She pulled the man by his arm and placed him in front of her. They exchanged looks for a little while, analyzing each other, looking for something to hate about each other.

“You must be Littlefinger’s bastard.” He spat, a disgusted look on his face.

Harry the Heir? More like Harry the Douchebag, Harry the Fucking Idiot.

“Alayne Stone, yes.” She answered politely. “A Stone just like the child you fathered and the one who’s coming on the way. By the way, how is the child? Healthy? Or maybe you hate bastards enough to treat her this badly?”

He looked livid and she couldn’t be prouder of herself. She was a bastard and it didn’t matter if she were polite to the lords who didn’t know who she really was, they would always see her as someone not worthy, so she spoke her mind, spoke words that could cut deeper than a sword.

“You don’t know how I treat my child.” Harry clenched his fists.

“Harry!” Lady Hardyng hissed but Harry and Alayne ignored her.

“What’s the difference between the bastard child of Harry Hardyng and the bastard child of Lord Baelish?” Alayne asked, raising an eyebrow. His reaction was priceless; he screwed his face as if he was trying to access some clever part of his very dumb brain.

“If you treat your child right, you’ll treat me right. Otherwise, I’ll come to the conclusion that you’re not a very smart person, Ser Hardyng.” She continued and then turned to the other lords, who looked astonished at her. “My lords, there’s an accommodation for each one and I hope you can make yourselves comfortable here. Tonight, we’ll have a great feast but for now, rest. Mya will provide you everything you need.”

She left their company as Mya approached to lead them to their rooms. Alayne felt her muscles rigid by yet another uncomfortable encounter. She just wanted to scream at the world, at Harry the Dickhead for being so rude with her.

“Lady Alayne.” She raised her head to see that she was far away from the main hall and near Sweetrobin’s chambers. Alayne looked at Gretchel in front of her and softened her features, relaxing just a little.

“How is Lord Robin?” Alayne asked. The woman squeezed her hands nervously and tried to give her a light smile. Alayne was having none of it. “Is there something wrong?”

“No, my lady!” She was quick to answer. “But Lord Robin asked for you, he seems upset.”

Alayne made a huge effort not to roll her eyes. She had made specifically clear that she didn’t want to be bothered by Lord Robin’s constant requests while she was helping organize the feast but she couldn’t be angry at the woman. The boy could be especially irritating when he wanted something. Still, something inside Alayne made her care deeply for the boy and she would never leave him without her attention.

“It’s fine, Gretchel. I will see him now. Could you locate my father and tell him I need to speaking to him, please?”

“Sure, my lady.” Gretchel bowed and left her company.

Alayne spent the next hour reading stories to the boy, distracting him from his complaining that he wasn’t going to fight at the tourney, that everyone forgot he wasn’t just a child but Lord Robin Arryn, Lord of The Vale. She soothed him and made sure to calm him with nice words, that he was a strong boy and with time, he would rise as a great lord and a great swordsman. She didn’t even believe in what she was saying but she said it anyway if that meant the boy would just shut up for a while.

“You and I, we are going to get married in the future, right?” Sweetrobin said, startling Alayne a bit, who was focused on her story.

“That would be right, Sweetrobin.” She answered, shifting herself so she could face him.

“And we’ll have many heirs.” He stated, smiling widely. _Silly, silly boy. Do you think you’re going to live long enough to become an adult?_

“All the heirs my body allows me to have.” Alayne answered. “But now you need to rest for tonight’s feast.”

He groaned, rolling his eyes. “Those lords and that pathetic Harry Hardyng, I wish I could see them all flying through the Moon Door. Harrold is just waiting for my death so he can become Lord of The Vale, I know it and he thinks I don’t, that I’m stupid. Well, too bad because I’m not going to die soon.”

_May the Gods hear you for once, Sweetrobin. If we are left with Harry Hardyng, we might as well declare The Vale’s downfall._

Some deep part of her still wished he would live longer, that the Gods wouldn’t let his weakness get the best of him. But she knew it wasn’t just the weakness that was killing him, she knew Lord Baelish was asking Master Coleman to give him sweetsleep more times than he should be taking. And she was part of it because she knew and encouraged it.

“No, you’re not. Like I said, you’re going to become a strong lord.” She reassured.

The young falcon seemed to have calmed down and soon he was asleep next to her. It took a big effort to leave the bed without waking him up but she managed to. Alayne spent the rest of her day worrying about the final touches for the feast before she retreated to her chambers to wash herself.

She took her time, making sure she was smelling good and well cleaned. As she was washing her hair, there was a knock on the door and a muffled gentle voice on the other side called for her bastard name.

“It’s your father.” She rearranged her hair and placed it in front of her breasts. When she was sure she was modest enough to receive her father, she told him to come in. Her back was turned to the door but she heard him gasp slightly behind her.

“If I knew you were immodest, I’d have waited for you to finish, my lady.” Petyr said, coming to stand in front of her.

“I’m sorry, father. I’ll try to be modest the next time.” Alayne stared at him, trying to decipher if this was making him uncomfortable or aroused. Maybe both. She moved a little bit and her hair revealed one of her nipples.

Petyr looked at it for a moment before his gaze moved back to her eyes. He smirked.

“I’m sorry if I didn’t come to you earlier, I was quite busy today.” Petyr apologized. He sat on a chair next to the bathtub and reached for the hair that had moved, exposing her nipple. Carefully, he moved her hair to cover her immodesty. Ah, so that made him uncomfortable? “I have things to talk to you,” he continued, unfazed. “I heard you’ve met Harry the Heir.”

“And I’m sure you heard our first encounter wasn’t a pleasant one? That he was really rude and called me a bastard?” Alayne gave him a bitter smile.

“I heard it too. He was rude because he’s not very clever. And you’re a very beautiful bastard, he just doesn’t know how to appreciate that.”

They remained in silence for a moment while his words hang in the air.

“I still need him to like you so I’m trusting you tonight, my dear. Wear your best dress, fix your hair the way you know best and seduce him, bewitch him. The feast was made thinking of you. I know you can do this. He’s going to ask to wear your favor. Don’t accept it, give it to another. We can’t look desperate.”

Alayne didn’t know If she could do this. When she was Sansa, it was easy because she already had all of the lords’ attention and she only needed to carry herself gracefully and smile. She nodded to him and received a kiss on the forehead. The lord walked towards the door and stopped before leaving.

“Ah, I asked for your handmaid to leave a jewelry I bought for you to use tonight. It’s in your bed and I believe it’ll look lovely with any dress you choose.” Lord Baelish smiled and left her alone with her thoughts.

_Ok, Harry Hardyng. You like sex so that’s why you have another bastard on the way… You can’t keep your dick in your pants. And you’re not smart._

 

Alayne arrived at the Great Hall, which was bursting with people chatting enthusiastically, from lords to servants. There was a song being played about a boy who was raised to be a great knight and how his enemies trembled when they heard his name. Her mind wandered to Robb, her oldest brother, to how he used to train hard, his smile every time their father would praise his skills. He was a handsome man and had died too early, too brutally. Alayne shook the thoughts from her mind, they wouldn’t help her reclaim Winterfell, the same place her late brother left unguarded, forsaken.

She straightened and walked between the many tables on the hall, greeting the lords and smiling politely at the knights. Her gaze found her father siting on a big table by the end of the hall, chatting with Lord Royce, Ser Harry and Lady Waynwood. There were other lords on the table talking to each other and Lord Robin was next to them, playing with his food and looking bored. His face brightened when he saw her.

“Alayne!” He called for her and she gave him a big smile. “Come sit next to me!”

“Sure, my lord.” She answered and took the seat next to him. She wasn’t supposed to be sitting at a table full of lords and ladies but no one dared to challenge Lord Robin’s requests. They have already seen him having a fit from being upset. “Good evening, my lords and my lady.”

“Your beauty is definitely one of a kind, my lady.” An old lord she didn’t know the name spoke to her politely.

“I think she’s even prettier than Sansa Stark, even though I’ve never seen the lady wolf. The stories though…” A bald lord said from the other side of the table and Alayne went rigid. _I must not show any feelings right now or I’ll ruin everything_.

She smiled to the lord, acting as if she didn’t fully understand what he was saying. It was better to play dumb. She hoped none of the other lords would start talking about Sansa right in front of her, otherwise she didn’t know if she could fight this insane urge to scream “I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell!” that came to her from time to time.

“You’re most kind, my lords.” Alayne took a sip of her wine, trying to hide how blushed she was becoming. _Stop it, Alayne._

“Lady Alayne definitely looks gorgeous tonight.” Lord Royce complimented and she couldn’t help but blush even more. She had chosen a dark green dress Lord Baelish gave to her when she arrived at The Vale and the jewelry he had selected, a moonstone necklace that matched perfectly with her dress. Lord Baelish was not only a very intelligent man but he also had a good taste for elegancy. Her hair was fixed in a complicated braid similar to the ones she wore in King’s Landing.

“Thank you, my lord. My dear father made sure I looked the best tonight.” Alayne answered, looking at Lord Baelish, who seemed somehow amazed. She smiled at him and he retributed.

“Your father seems to have fine tastes.” Alayne was surprised to see that Lord Harry had spoken directly to her.

“I only want what’s best for my daughter.” Petyr raised his glass of wine to her. “Share your first dance with me, my dear?”

“Of course, father.” He raised and took her hand gracefully, leading her to the dancefloor.

Much to her surprise, Lord Baelish was an incredibly good dancer, smoothly and elegantly spinning her, then guiding her through the hall. Her dress swung beautifully around them to the rhythm of their moves and she wore a brilliant smile through the whole dance, exhalating confidence. The other lords and ladies looked at them with jealousy and she wondered how many of them thought that perhaps she wasn’t who she was pretending to be, how many of them thought that her relationship with her father was beyond father and daughter, nearing “inappropriate”.

“You look really gorgeous, my dear.” Petyr whispered in her ear next to the end of the song. “I’m sure Harrold is quite appreciating your beauty.” Alayne searched for Harry and saw that he was dancing with Myranda. However, he couldn’t stop staring at her. _That’s it. Ignore her and focus on me._

“He likes to fuck, my father.” She whispered, remembering the things Myranda told her, the way he looked at pretty women, how he chased after new skirts to explore. “I’m just giving him what he likes to see: beauty.”

Petyr chuckled. “That’s not what most men like? That’s their downfall, I’ve come to learn. After their cocks are dripping, they share everything to a whore they have never seen before.”

The song ended and the pairs split. Petyr and Alayne stood in front of each other smiling and he bowed to her gracefully.

“Thank you for the dance. I’m sure the lords will be fighting to have the chance of one dance with you.” He kissed her hand and left. Alayne turned around to be caught in the hands of another lord which name she didn’t know.

She had lost count of how many lords she had danced that night and her feet were aching. Before she could start leaving, a tall young man called softly her name. When she turned around to find the lord calling her name, she couldn’t quite believe it was Ser Harry, smiling gently at her.

“Can I have a dance with you? It seems it’s quite difficult to have your hand tonight.” The young man said, offering his hand. Alayne looked at his hand and then back at him, her eyebrows raised.

“I thought you didn’t like bastards.” She said dryly.

“I think we started this with the wrong foot, my lady.” Ser Harry kept offering his hand to her and she decided to finally take it. He brought her hand to his lips and gave it a chaste kiss.

“You lead the way, my lord.” Alayne said, adjusting herself to his embrace. Harry guided her through his movements, careful not to step on her feet. His grip on her waist was insistent but far from annoying and she was surprised she was actually enjoying dancing with him.

“I should apologize for my behavior early today. I was definitely not thinking straight.” He offered and she assented. They remained quiet and she knew she had to say something, anything, or it would be difficult to seduce him. _Ok Alayne, drop your sharp tongue for a moment._

“What are the names of your children?” That was definitely not something a girl would say to her betrothal but since when she was behaving like a proper lady?

“My first one was named Alys, she’s two years old. The one on the way doesn’t have a name yet.” He answered before spinning her, then grabbing her waist again to guide her.

“They have different mothers?” _Of course they have, they are both bastards._

“Yes. Aly’s mother is Cissy and she was arranged to marry with one of the men-at-arms of Lady Anya after she got fat as a cow because of the pregnancy. Saffron is the mother of the one who’s coming on the way.”

“And who is she?”

“Daughter of one of the richest man in Gulltown; she’s more precious to him than gold.”

“Is she pretty?” Alayne raised one of her eyebrows.

“Very pretty, my lady.” Ser Harry smiled shyly.

“Prettier than me?” He seemed disconcerted. “Go on, you can say.”

“I don’t think any woman could be as pretty as you, my lady. You have to be the most gorgeous woman from all the seven kingdoms. I was rather… surprised.”

“Really? Surprised?” She suppressed a small laugh.

“I was afraid you’d look like your father.” He didn’t look at her eyes while he said that and she could only imagine he was ashamed. She laughed.

“You thought I had a pointy beard?” Alayne teased.

Harry laughed this time, relaxing a little bit. He approached her ear and whispered, “I’m really glad you don’t have one. This way I can appreciate your beauty.”

Alayne took the opportunity to tease him for real, “I know you’re. Once we are married, you won’t need Cissy or Saffron, or any of those. I’ll be all the spice you’ll need in your life.”

When she retreated, she realized Harry was blushing hard. She had to fight really hard not to burst out laughing at him.

The song ended and he cordially kissed her hand, bowing to her. “My lady, if I may… Could I wear your favor tomorrow at the tourney?”

“You may not, Ser Harry. I gave it to another.” His expression was from a wounded man. _Oh, did I hurt your pride, Harry The Arse?_

“As you wish, my lady.” He bowed again and left her company.

_Now I only have to find someone to wear my favor tomorrow._

From far away, Alayne saw Myranda talking to her father and when the young woman sighted her, she called for her to join them. Gracefully, Alayne carried herself across the hall to meet Randa and Petyr.

“My lady, sweet daughter, I should leave you two to talk.” Petyr said as soon as she approached them. Both of the girls bowed to the lord and turned to each other.

“So I see you have shared your first dance with Harry, your betrothal.” Randa smiled, teasing. Alayne giggled and tried to hide her face.

“Yes! But don’t make a fuss about it!” Alayne giggled a little more.

“Ohh silly girl, are you already in love? He seems really interested in you!” Randa joked, pointing at him. Harry was far away talking to the lords but he had his attention aimed at her.

“Stop pointing!” Alayne reprimanded, trying to play the shy and silly girl. “Do you think he likes me?”

Randa gave her a false exasperated look. “Really? A woman pretty like you should have really gotten used to men’s attention. He finds you gorgeous, for sure, and he’s an idiot for not thinking about diving into your pussy.”

“Randa!!” Alayne slapped her arm playfully.

“What? I’m only telling the truth.”

Alayne this time laughed in earnest. Of course she wasn’t lying, Alayne had already learned by now that men were driven by sex. Maybe not all of them, but most part of them and she knew Harry was one of them. Lord Baelish? Not so much. For a man who owns brothels, he’s terribly controlled around her or any other women. Maybe he gets off from having power and not so much from a woman.

She touched her lips and remembered the day they kissed each other in his office, the way he took control of the situation as if he didn’t have an erection inside of his breeches.

_He’s even more difficult to manipulate than I thought. I guess I’ll have to upgrade my skills even more if I want him to do the things that need to be done._

Her eyes found Petyr’s and he smiled to her but she noticed that this was one of his smiles that never reached his eyes.


	5. News from the North

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course, the contact with the servants gave her the opportunity to hear many gossips and information that were interesting and other times, unimportant. At least, they were funnier than the ones she heard from Randa when the girls were united. Then one day, Alayne heard one gossip that wasn’t funny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! :)

Alayne was a bastard and as one, she became friends with all the servants of the castle. She knew everybody, from the people who worked at the kitchen to the guards and servants who transported foodstuffs. Everyday she made a mental note that if she ever returned to be Sansa Stark and became Lady of Winterfell, she would give extra attention to the people who served her. A good ruler knows her people.

She was called “the Kind Lady” by the people at The Eyrie, much better than “Snow Queen”, which was how they called her in Kings Landing. Every now and then, when people referred to her as Kind Lady, Petyr would give her a pleased smirk and a small bow with his head. She had yet to understand why that pleased him.

Of course, the contact with the servants gave her the opportunity to hear many gossips and information that were interesting and other times, unimportant. At least, they were funnier than the ones she heard from Randa when the girls were united. Then one day, Alayne heard one gossip that wasn’t funny.

_“That’s what they all say about him. A sadist bastard who likes to feed his dogs with people_. _Human beings!!”_ One of the cookers whispered to the other as Alayne entered the kitchen, seduced by the smell of lemon cakes.

_“I heard he’s even worse than King Joffrey. Former King Joffrey. That the lords of the North despise him but they have to endure him because of Lord Bolton.”_ A woman whispered to the other two cookers. The mention of “lords of the North” caught Alayne’s attention and she stretched out to hear better. One of the servants noticed and turned to speak to her.

“Lady Stone, good evening.” He said, bowing.

Alayne smiled sheepishly. “Good evening. I’m sorry to be spying on you, I just couldn’t stop myself.”

“Not a problem, my lady. Come, join us and have a lemon cake!” A big fat lady who took care of the deserts called to her and the approached them.

“So, as I was saying…” The woman who was talking before lowered her voice again. “People in the North say Lord Bolton will make the bastard a legit heir, now that he’s married to one of the Stark girls. The families there don’t like that though. They think she should be the one ruling, the Starks have quite an influence over the North, ya know.”

_WHAT_ , was all that Alayne could think of. _What, what, what, what._ Arya was… alive?

“Which one of the Starks is he married to?” Alayne tried to sound as uninterested as possible.

“To the youngest, Arya.” Said one voice taking care of the lamb that was going to be served tonight.

“And who is the bastard? I know nothing of the North or their families.”

“Ah Lady Alayne, sometimes I wish I were this ignorant about the North. They ripped us apart, the Lannisters fuckers with the help of the Freys and the Boltons. I had to run from the North when Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, was murdered at a wedding. A wedding! It’s not safe anymore in the North and the families look at the Boltons with anger, especially the bastard, _Ramsay_. He rapes and tortures Lord Stark’s daughter, and I heard they can hear her screams all over the North.” Alayne observed the woman shiver. “Don’t know how they haven’t taken Winterfell from the Boltons yet.”

Alayne wanted to puke with all of that information, it was just too much.

“I understand.” Alayne mustered. “That’s sad to hear, really. I should go upstairs and wait for dinner, or else I’m going to end up eating too many lemon cakes.” She grabbed a few cakes just to fool them into thinking she was that hungry. She actually wanted to puke everything that was and wasn’t in her stomach.

Her head was spinning when she left the kitchen and ran to her chambers. Servants passed by greeting her and she limited herself to only say good evening. If she talked too much, she feared she would pass out because her mind was too chaotic.

As soon as she reached her chambers, Alayne felt her body heavy and fell to the floor, sobbing. She tried not to make loud noises and muffled her tears with the palm of her hands. Soon, she started suffocating and forced herself to breathe slowly, steady and wipe away her tears.

Arya was in the North, married and being _tortured!_ And Petyr didn’t tell any of that to her, he kept her in the dark with lies and empty promises, as if Winterfell could ever in this world be reclaimed. Arya was there, she was the strongest and she was diminished as a plaything for this Ramsay fucking bastard. If Arya couldn’t fight against him, how could _Sansa_ do anything?!

Fucking Lord Petyr Baelish, liar of the liars. King of all kinds of lies.

Sometimes she wanted to love the man, after all, he saved her from a terrible fate in Kings Landing. But then, other times, she hated him without much effort as she remembered how he bathe her with lies every single time they were together. There was something within her that claimed for him when they were together and according to the things she was learning about men and women, it was something called lust, desire. It was something sexual. But he was a liar and anger ran through her veins, hate came out of her pores.

 

“You’re a worm!” Alayne hissed to Petyr, when he had closed the door to his solar. Petyr crossed his arm and looked attentively at her.

“And why is that?” He challenged, a small smirk playing on his lips. Alayne felt outraged: he didn’t even care if she was furious with him!

“ _You-”_ She started but couldn’t as bile clung to her throat. Alayne sat down and breathed slowly, trying to regain her senses. _Acting like this will only make you weaker in his eyes._

She raised her head and looked directly at him. “Arya is married to a psycho in Winterfell and _you never told me anything_.”

“Indeed, I haven’t. What kind of good that would make to our plans?” Petyr reasoned and she wanted to cover her ears up so she couldn’t hear his nonsense.

“Maybe it would be good for me to _actually_ know things instead of only the things you _choose_ to tell me.” Alayne snapped, turning around so she wouldn’t face those eyes that were once again preparing a lie to bathe her.

“Well, I think you’re right, Alayne. Ask what you want to know.” Petyr considered and she had to look at him, see what his expression was telling her. His words may have sounded warm and gentle but his face showed no traces of warmness. He wasn’t pleased. He wasn’t angry either.

_If he doesn’t act angry with me, then I have nothing to be angry about as well. Fucking clever douchebag._

“I want to know about what’s happening in the North and how Arya got there.”

“It’s not Arya, it’s your friend Jeyne Poole.” He confessed, his face expressionless.

“ _What?!”_ Alayne exclaimed. “How, that cannot-”

“When your father was incarcerated and all of his servants killed, the Queen commanded that we took Jeyne far away from you. By the time your brother and mother were killed, nobody knew where your sister was and how she looked like, the Lannisters needed to give something to the Boltons for their…. Job on the Red Wedding-”.

Alayne gulped at the mention of the event where her brother and mother were brutally assassinated. They had trusted the Freys and the Boltons, and they had all betrayed her family.

“So Queen Cersei demanded that we sent your friend to marry Roose’s bastard posing as Arya Stark. As far as my little birds tell me, the Boltons are hated in the North because of their role in the Red Wedding and Ramsay’s _inclination_ towards rape and torture.” He concluded, smoothing his goatee. Petyr took a sip of his wine while he stared at her, waiting for her to say something but she couldn’t give him an answer. Not yet.

Several thoughts crossed her mind, from terrible ones to good ones. At least, it wasn’t Arya there.

But it was Jeyne, her _best_ friend, who had nothing to do with conflict between her family and the Lannisters.

Jeyne was just a pawn on the Game of Thrones, and a weak one, so Alayne should find plausible that she was moved wherever the players wanted to put her. She didn’t, however. If there was something Alayne couldn’t do right now was distinguish herself from Sansa Stark, the power of the emotions was too much to detach herself from the persona she created to survive. Her heart ached for her friend, how her purity and life were ruined by those who wanted to destroy people above all things.

Alayne found the silence too much for her head. If she didn’t say anything, her thoughts were going to eat her alive.

“I-I doubt you didn’t have a part on that.” She said and thought she sounded dumb.

“You’re right, sweetling.” Petyr said camly, unaffected by all the emotions Alayne was going through. “I served the Lannisters, I had to do what was asked- no, wait, _demanded_ from me. I would do anything to protect you, I very much prefer how the events unfolded, that it was Jeyne Poole sent to marry Ramsay and not you. It would have killed me to know you were going through so much pain and that I wouldn’t be able to save you.”

“I highly doubt that, Petyr.” _He had to nerve to lie to me again?!_

“Sansa, I don’t think you fully understand.” His voice lowered when he said her real name. “My plans are all about you and they require you’re happy and safe. When your mother died, I made a vow to protect you at any cost and that’s what I’m planning to do. You’re smarter than that, my lady. You and I together are a great team, so I need you to start thinking more rationally than emotionally.”

That was a slap on her face. She felt dumb and pathetic for overreacting, using her emotions to guide her conversation with Littlefinger. Every now and then she was reminded by him that emotions weren’t good when you were playing the game of thrones, and she felt like a child being scolded for wanting something and using crying as bargain. Sometimes she thought he was right, but other times she thought it was only the Littlefinger facade coming into scene. Either way, she felt stupid and was always afraid he would leave her out of his plans because of the wrong moves she made.

“I want to meet Roose and Ramsay Bolton.” Alayne finally had the courage to speak again.

Petyr analyzed her for a few seconds before answering, “Why would you want that?”

“Aren’t the Boltons allies to the Vale?” She shifted uncomfortably while she tried to make sense even to herself. She just _had_ to see the bastard face to face. The one she was going to kill someday in order to have Winterfell again.

“Yes, they are.”

“As Lord Protector of the Vale, I think it would be wise if you introduced your daughter to our allies.”

“I don’t think that it would be wise.” Petyr took a sip of his wine, clearly enjoying their encounter.

“You know what I think is not wise? Not knowing the face of your enemy or the ones who harmed you.” She thought it was pretty obvious that she needed to see their faces in order to make her anger become properly poisonous. She was angry but not enough. She needed more fuel to make her bad vindictive side grow stronger.

Petyr walked towards his desk and sat down, getting back to work. For a second, Alayne thought that her argument hadn’t convinced him but he gave her one last look before he started writing one of his many letters. “The book on the chair next to you is for studying. You don’t want to go visit the Boltons without knowing the East’s full history, do you? We have to be prepared, after all, you’re a Stone, born on the East.”

Alayne smirked lightly before grabbing the book to take to her chambers. As she was leaving, she heard his calm voice, “Good night, Alayne.”


	6. Paying a visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If she could bet, she would bet that they both had realized that no matter how hard Roose tried to secure the North to the Lannisters, he would never succeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any mistakes are entirely my fault since this work doesn't have a beta (only me and sometimes I'm very tired to look properly if there are any mistakes).  
> I wanna thank each and every one of you who stop by to read, review and give kudos to my story. It's very veeeery much appreciated!

Alayne felt the cold wind blow her dull brown hair into her face. She held her locks behind her ears so she could properly see the full extension of Winterfell and its towers. She could see The Great Keep towering over the courtyard and wondered if there were men training there, preparing themselves for the wars to come, if Winterfell was storing grains for the winter.

Then she remembered the Godswood, how much her other persona, Sansa, used to love sit there and pray for a different life. Sansa had wanted so much to leave Winterfell that she never gave a second thought that one day she would miss the place. Not so long ago, Sansa had re-built Winterfell in the yard of the Eyrie using snow and it was then she realized she should have never left her true home. Being away from Winterfell only brought sadness, tragedy and tears to her life.

Alayne felt the hands of the Lord Protector touching her shoulders and she shivered slightly at the proximity of his body. She had been trying to act neutrally near him but it was impossible when his heat and his smell could mess with all her senses. They didn’t stand a fight against him.

“Homesick, sweetling?” She could smell the mint on his breath. His tone was so low that only Alayne could hear.

“I left Winterfell when I was a child. I thought anywhere else would be better than this castle but now I realize this is the place I should have never left.” He answered, her voice as low as his.

“Like you said, you were a child, sweetling. When we are young, sometimes we want things that aren’t good for us.”

Alayne knew he was talking about his childhood at Riverrun and how he fell deeply in love with her mother. She remained quiet looking at the towers that were part of her childhood. She could almost see Bran running and climbing the towers while her mother yelled for him to stop that. Arya used to laugh at this and encourage Bran to climb even higher. Jon and Rob spent most of their time training with Theon, Rickon watching from the back. She would stay indoors with septa Mordane sewing new dresses but now she wished she had stayed more with her brothers and sister and less concerned about being a lady.

She noticed Petyr had stepped back and was waiting for her. Giving one last one at Winterfell, Alayne returned to her horse and started her ride to the gates of the castle. Soon enough, they were being greeted by the Bolton army that guided them into Winterfell’s courtyard.

Alayne refrained the urge to tell them she didn’t need to be guided into the castle of her own family where she grew up and truly belonged. But she put on a cordial smile and let the Bolton’s men lead the way.

Standing in the middle of the courtyard, there were two men: one young, black haired, with very deep blue eyes and a maniac look to his face; the other one was older and had the same black hair as the young one but he had hard lines around his face. Overall, he seemed more experienced than the younger one.

“Lord Baelish!” The older man said, stretching his arms. Petyr bowed lightly to the man and guided Alayne to stand next to him.

“Lord Bolton, may I introduce you my daughter, Alayne. My darling, meet Lord Roose Bolton.”

For a few seconds, she wasn’t Alayne anymore. She was Sansa Stark, born in Winterfell, daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark, the one who saw her family being shred into little pieces only to make other families more powerful. Roose Bolton was the main character in that horrible, twisted story and Sansa was right in front of him. Black hair and a fake name would never erase this fact from her life.

But she bottled everything up, feigning the same calm and impassive expression Lord Baelish used to face people. Getting into the mask of Alayne Stone again. Some would say she inherited this trait from her father, _Petyr Baelish_. Alayne gave Lord Bolton a small smile. So, if this was Roose Bolton, then the young boy must be Ramsay. The _rapist_.

“Lord Bolton.” She bowed to him and when she raised, she saw Ramsay staring at her with a big smile on his face.

“Lady Stone, this is my son, Ramsay.” Lord Bolton introduced them.

“My lady. You are far more beautiful than I thought.” She heard him but her eyes were busy somewhere else. Far behind them, she saw a familiar face. Terrified and tearful but familiar. _Theon Greyjoy_. She tried not to stare at him and was terribly failing.

Ramsay seemed to notice for he looked questioningly at her before he followed her gaze to Theon. “Is there a problem, my lady?” Ramsay asked.

“I-“ she stopped for a second and met Ramsay’s gaze, smiling. “No problem, my lord. He just looks oddly familiar but I don’t think I’ve ever met someone as… disgraceful as him.”

Ramsay laughed wholeheartedly. “You hear that, Reek?! I think you’re not welcome here near this beautiful lady. Off you go, I’ll deal with you later.”

Alayne hated that she had to say that about Theon, he didn’t deserve it and probably he would suffer for that later. She cringed knowing that nowadays he was called _reek_.

She was conducted to a spare chamber and stayed there, fighting the urge not to visit the godswill. That would be giving too much away, so after resting for a bit, she went to visit Lord Baelish in his chambers.

“My sweet daughter.” He greeted, taking her by the hands and leading her to sit on his lap.

“What are you doing?” She asked, looking at the letters on his desk.

“These are from the people I trust that are taking care of my business.” Petyr pointed to the letters next to them.

“You don’t _trust_ anyone, Petyr. You pay them well enough for them to obey you.” Alayne noticed, smirking. Petyr gave her a full smile and kissed her cheek.

“Very smart, sweetling.” He said proudly. “And these letters,” he pointed at the ones a bit far away. “are from Cersei Lannister. She is eager to secure that the North is still pledged to the Lannisters.”

“Because the Boltons pledged alliance to the Lannisters.” Alayne concluded. Petyr assented. “And what are you going to write to Cersei?”

If everything goes well tonight, I’m going to say I visited the Boltons and that they still are the crown’s allies. This is the reason why we are here, Alayne.”

“I understand, father.” She said but then lowered her voice. “They have Theon Greyjoy. I don’t know what happened but he’s not the same.”

“Are you sure you don’t know? I think you know Ramsay’s reputation in the North.” Alayne felt a shiver running down her spine when she remembered everything she heard about Ramsay. The lord was beyond sick, a true psychopath. She didn’t even want to imagine the things he could have possibly done to Theon or else she would throw up.

“I know.” She heard Petyr saying and turned to him. “He is despicable.”

“And Jeyne is here with him.” Alayne noticed her friend was nowhere around them when she arrived in Winterfell. “Where is she?”

“I suppose she’s locked up somewhere.” He whispered against her shoulder, his goatee scratching her sensitive skin. Alayne felt him kissing her skin, moving to her neck.

She was getting distracted by his caresses, letting him change the subject. Of course she didn’t want to spend her days talking about how cruel Ramsay was but she felt upset when he changed subject like this, dismissing her worries. She felt this was a good opportunity to seduce him a bit more, though.

Alayne released a small moan when he lightly bit her skin. His hand moved to her mouth, making her go quiet. “Shh, sweetling. We don’t want people to hear us.”

His hand kept making her quiet while the other one explored her body. Petyr took his time touching her neck, then her cleavage until he sneaked a finger to touch her nipple. Alayne whimpered and he pressed his hand harder to her mouth.

“Let’s play a game, Alayne. I want to help you with this-” He pressed his hand next to her core. “And you are going to be quiet during the whole process. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

“Yes.” Her voice was shaking with desire. He pressed his face against her neck and she could feel him smirking on her skin. She almost wanted to rip that fucking smirk off his face but she was too aroused to think of anything else. If anything, she wanted him to take her right now.

Between her legs, she was incredibly wet, almost damp. This wasn’t the first time she felt like that in her lady parts but it was the first time someone was making her even wetter. Petyr was working carefully on her neck, switching from light bites to long licks. He added more pressure on a spot behind her ear covered by hair until she jumped with the sudden pain, then he kissed the spot before whispering in her ear. “I couldn’t leave you without a mark.”

His mouth lowered to her cleavage while his free hand sneaked inside her skirt, resting against her inner thigh. Alayne was surprised that his hands were so warm against her skin and that his kisses were passionate. She shifted slightly in his lap and felt something hard on her thigh, poking through the thick fabric of her dress.

There was ferocious curiosity inside of her that demanded she tried touching him, with hands and mouth. Myranda told her all about the things you could do to please a man. Randa had done all those things herself and had a lot to say about them. But the last time Alayne had reached for his breeches, he had stopped her. He was oh so fixed on the idea of keeping her a virgin that he wouldn’t give in to his desire. She _knew_ he wanted her as well because he could never avoid kissing her.

She only noticed he got rid off her bodice when Petyr’s mouth wrapped around her stiffen nipple. Alayne moaned in his hand and he hissed, biting her nipple lightly.

_Oh my God, how does he do that?! He could make me beg using only his littlefinger because he was **that** good._

Alayne didn’t know if other men where capable of having this kind of skill and she was damned if there was someone better than Petyr, but she was grateful he was attentive to all the parts she was sensible.

His hand moved from her inner thigh to her smallclothes, pressing a finger to her center. Alayne’s hips pushed forward into his hand and he chuckled, letting go her nipple.

“Someone wants a little more pressure.” Petyr used his index finger to tease her lady parts through the fabric, spreading even more her wetness. In another time, she would be embarrassed by what she was letting him do to her, by how she was reacting to all of it. She was _enjoying_ it.

Sometimes she had taken matters into her own hands. When the castle was quiet and all the noise that anyone could hear was from the wind, she would strip, crawl into her blankets and dive her hands between her legs, touching that magical little buddle of nerves. In the first few times, she had a hard time going until the end but once she discovered what she liked, things were easier.

It seemed like Petyr knew what she needed. He had moved her smallclothes away and was now caressing her entrance. His finger was already slicky with her need.

He hummed with pleasure. “You need me to take care of this?”

Alayne bit her lower lip and pushed her core into his hand. He tsked. “You’ll have to say it, my darling.”

“Yes.” She answered with a shaky breath.

“Yes, what?” Petyr teased, giving her the typical playful smirk.

“ _Yes, I need you to take care of this_.”

Petyr rose his finger from her entrance to her clit, pressuring it and Alayne moaned. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and started moving her hips, creating the friction she needed the most. He didn’t tease her this time, he pressed his whole hand into her womanhood and matched her rhythm.

Alayne started panting when he inserted a finger inside of her and trusted.

“You must taste so good, sweetling.” He whispered on her ear. “Will you let me taste you someday?”

She didn’t think she could be more turned on but she was proven wrong when she heard him saying those things. The idea of him between her lady parts was something she would dream a lot until it became reality.

“Maybe.” She teased, breathless. His caresses on her womanhood increased and she suppressed a moan. She was so wet that her smallclothes and even her thighs were damp now with all of her juices.

“Maybe?” Petyr answered back and she raised her head to look at him. He wasn’t smirking as usual or was looking at her teasingly. He was actually flushed, desire printed on the lines of his face. That gave Alayne a new rush of desire and she craved her nails around his neck, making him groan. _Good_.

“Only if you let me please you as well, my lord.” She said before she could think properly. Petyr bit his lower lip.

“I think we can come up with something.”

For the first time, they kissed. It wasn’t meticulous and slow like he always does but messy and sloppy, and she liked it the same. The mint on his breath and his goatee were the things she liked the most because they made his kiss unique and maybe she would never find someone who would kiss her like this. Sad that she couldn’t trust him completely. It would make her happy to marry a man who could please her so much with such a simple thing as a kiss.

There was a pressure rising on her belly and she knew what it was. She had felt like that when she touched herself but never this strong. As if sensing she was already reaching her peak, Petyr sped up the movements of his hand until she was falling off the cliff, meeting her ultimate climax. She clutched his shoulders due to the force of her orgasms.

His voice was soothing on her ear, making her slowly descend from the highness of her climax. She was feeling weak, happy and she could almost think that everything was fine. _Almost_.

 

Alayne took a while to get dressed after her encounter with Lord Baelish, making sure she had washed herself properly and that her cheeks weren’t blushed anymore. The Boltons prepared a hearty meal for them and the knights of the Vale, and she would be really happy to be there if it wasn’t for the simple fact that those were usurpers acting if Winterfell was their home. She was much more interested to hear the conversation between Petyr and Lord Bolton.

As usual, she chose one of her best dresses but didn’t fix her hair, she let it loose falling down her shoulders. Every eye of the room turned to look at her and she smiled shyly, aiming to look naïve and angelical for the Boltons.

“Lord Baelish, your daughter is a real sight for sore eye.” Alayne heard Lord Roose Bolton saying and Petyr smirked, knowingly.

“Thank you, my lord.” She said, bowing slightly. Alayne took her seat next to Walda Bolton, who smiled gently to the girl. Alayne felt strangely sympathetic towards the woman, she had an anxious face and a warm smile. At least someone here who was a good person.

“So, as I was saying, I’m trying to unite the lords of the North.” Alayne heard Roose resuming his chat with Petyr. She pretended to be busy filling her plate with pork and potatoes but was focusing on the lords’ conversation. “But the Lannisters don’t understand the North. It’s not easy to gain the houses’ trust when you are responsible for the death of their main house.”

“I’m sure they understand, Lord Bolton.” Petyr said. Alayne was now faking a lighthearted conversation with Walda. “Cersei Lannister just wishes you could try harder.”

“We are doing the best we can, Lord Baelish.” Ramsay’s voice stood out in the room. Alayne found out she couldn’t get pass the fact that his voice was extremely annoying and never carried warmness in it.

“I know you are, I just have to pass on the message. Cersei can be… incredibly ignorant about alliances but she wants only the best for the realm. I’m here to make sure our goals remain the same.”

“You can tell her the Boltons are still pledged to the crown.” Roose answered. “We just need time and everything will come back into its place.”

 _No, it won’t,_ Alayne thought. The Lannisters didn’t understand the northerners at all: loyalty was very important to them and a treason like the one the Boltons committed didn’t go unpunished. It wasn’t actually a surprise to Sansa that Roose was having trouble ruling the North. He didn’t have the right family name, they weren’t trustworthy and above all of that, they had helped slaughter her family.

_The North remembers, Lord Bolton. You should know that since you’re a northerner but I guess the South corrupted you._

“And how is Arya Stark? I’m sure she would be the key to secure the North.” Petyr suggested, trying not to look at Alayne but failing miserably. He wanted to see her reaction but she was wiser than that and only rose one of her eyebrows.

“She’s doing good.” Roose answered but Alayne noticed he had turned very uncomfortable with the subject. Ramsay smiled and offered a better answer in his father’s place.

“She’s great, my lord. I fear she’s not as sociable as I’d like her to be but she does her best.” Ramsay punctuated the end of the statement with a bite on a slice of pork.

“And where is she?” Petyr asked, looking around.

“She wasn’t feeling well and decided to stay in her chambers today.” Roose answered before Ramsay could open his mouth.

 _Oh_. Well, it seems like Roose’s biggest problem is actually his own son. From all the things Alayne heard of Ramsay and his cruel nature, she was sure this was the main reason why the lords of the North could never trust the Boltons. People said they could hear his wife’s screams and that definitely was shattering Roose Bolton’s ambition in becoming true Protector of the North.

Ramsay was their weak spot. The man looked like he knew what he was doing but Alayne knew best, she knew he was blind to what the northerners thought about abuse and treason. If she could only reveal who she really was, maybe her claim to Winterfell would be strong enough to unite the lords of the North.

And Petyr knew that more than anyone. Alayne looked at him and the lord seemed pleased by the direction the conversation had gone; how uncomfortable Lord Bolton had become when Arya’s name was mentioned. If she could bet, she would bet that they both had realized that no matter how hard Roose tried to secure the North to the Lannisters, he would never succeed. And if ever Ramsay was in charge of Winterfell, then it was easier to rebel against him. He had no claim and no sympathy from his people.

Alayne couldn’t help but feel hopeful.

 


End file.
